BooksBarbecue
Back The Asset
Chapters (86)
  1. Foreword
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. Afterword

But right then, she had a bigger worry. If she didn’t somehow get herself between Lance’s sheets, she’d be sharing a bed with Roth.

And that was not happening.

She had no doubt, zero, nada, that if she went back to room 309 of the Deweyville EconoLodge and got into that bed, Roth’s hands would find their way onto her body. He wouldn’t be able to help himself, whatever his intentions.

She knew men.

And that wasn’t even the worst thing about it. Because if she said no to him, he’d stop. He wouldn’t like it, it would make things awkward between them, but he’d stop and never bring it up again.

No. The thing she hated was that she might not say no. She might let him have his way. As much as she knew men, she knew herself better. And she wasn’t in the habit of lying to herself. If she went back to that bed, she’d go through with it, she’d let it happen, and then she’d torture herself afterward. She’d hate herself.

She had daddy issues up the wazoo. She’d slept with so many older men, the Dale County retirement home probably had a section named after her.

And she didn’t like that. She didn’t like thinking about it. It made her feel dirty.

All she knew was that if she was getting screwed either way, it might as well be by Lance. At least that way there was something in it for her.

Lance was better looking than she’d expected. In their line of work, there was an advantage to being able to disappear in a crowd. Any woman would spot Lance a mile away. And she’d remember him.

He had a Clint Eastwood ruggedness about him, like he knew he was attractive but gained nothing from it. He was wearing high-waisted Lee jeans and a checkered shirt. His jacket was aviator style, tan leather with a fleece lining. He was tall, muscular. The way he moved, she’d have been able to tell he was ex-military even if she didn’t already know it.

“You from around here?” she said.

“Born and raised.”

“What’s that like?”

“Not so bad.”

“You get used to this cold?”

“Sure you do.”

The bartender came back over. Lance was the only man in the place who actually had a pulse and she wasn’t ready to let him go.

“He’s been to all sorts of cold places, haven’t you Lance?”

Lance smiled.

“Do tell,” Laurel said.

“I’ve been here and there.”

“Don’t be modest, Lance,” the bartender said.

Laurel hoped she didn’t sound like that when she flirted.

Lance looked at the bartender, then at Laurel. It was clear any lines he used on her had already been used on the bartender. Laurel didn’t care. It wasn’t like she’d been around.